Six Steps Before, Six Steps After
by NekomimiToree
Summary: "...however recent events had led me to believe she still have surviving family. I am limited in my ability so I request that you somehow help me return this child to her rightful family. Currently, I am at the Sycamore Inn off the edge of town, and you may visit me any time..."–Letter to Mercedes
1. 1

_**Letter:** "...I was never more than six steps away. What I've learned was that there is something much more sinister than the void. Can you guess what it is that splits one life from contact with another? It is death. This death is so much closer then I've ever imagined, and impossible to elude..." —to Luminous_

* * *

_**Theme:** Write a story that illustrates the culture of a society._

* * *

**A/N:** Hello and happy Early Thanksgiving (of course, if you don't celebrate the holiday, you can always enjoy this story)! I like to thank all the writers here who writes their own "Heroes" story and inspiring me to give my own take on it. I don't usually write "established canon" stories, but having the story pre-established gives me a lot of freedom to try out new weird writing styles. Every chapter of this story is based on a certain experimental theme. Enjoy!

* * *

"Order!" The grand bell resounds through the air, signaling the end of the break. It is the middle of spring in the great city of Magcintus, and with harvesting still yet to be done, the people is impatient as the nine takes their appropriate places across from the audience. The firsts to take seat are the six in steel-colored armor—the impartial jury. In a moment they will raise the rightful judgment to the criminal at the center of the stage.

"Order!" Repeats the command; everyone in the room holds their breaths, not because of the upcoming judgment, but because they are in the presence of The Honorable Judge of the Roundtable, the title given only to eleven magistrates and one Judge that governs the city of Magcintus. They have achieved purity unlike any other and so they are the only ones allowed to wear the white armor of Light. In this grand city, the glow of their armors must never be mistaken.

"Order!" The voice screams a third time as The Judge takes his seat at the center of the stage, behind the six jury members. He removes the helmet covering his visage, revealing to the audience the blindfolds that cover his eyes. He is the only one in the courtroom allowed to reveal his true face—the audience and jury is expected to conceal themselves in helmets so that the trial can be strictly conducted. Next to him, in black armors, are supposedly the sword bearer and the voice, both representing The Judge's Power and Reason.

However, even with their faces concealed, the audience continues to erupt in chatter. Seeing the voice's inability to quell the rowdiness, The Judge screams, "The trial will continue with or without the sword bearer!" Yes, something like this is unheard of in the history of Magcintus. Without the presence of the sword bearer, how will the verdict carry any weight! This is scandalous! The people demand a fair trial be reached!

"Silence!" The Judge screams again.

That one word carries itself throughout the whole city. That is not the weight of any verdict or weapon, but of the Judge himself. Yes, his voice is the law of the land, and when he screams, "Silence!" all must remain still. "The fairness of this trial is determined solely by the presence of The Judge himself," the voice explains. "He holds the honor to uphold and determine the law and that honor is to be held in the highest respect." No one makes a response for The Judge's decree is still deep in their hearts.

No one except for one young boy in black armor. "That is correct!" he announces, removing the helm piece that covers his mouth. He cuts through the audience as a darting bee, dragging a man across the ivory tiles by the back of his collar. "I apologize for being late! But I have found the man you asked me to find!" The black-armored boy takes a bow and points at the man lying on the ground.

"Is that why you are late? In order to track down the man I asked you to find?" asks The Judge himself.

"Yes! He can provide important clues for the innocence of the convicted!"

"And for that you knowingly break our own laws and appear late to the court?"

"Apologies! The justice of the land is supreme above all else and so, this trial must remain absolutely fair!"

The Judge thinks over the sword bearer's words with a stroke of his chin. Finally a decision is made, "Very good, sword bearer! However, your virtuous nature has jeopardized the tradition of the court and I cannot turn a blind eye at it. I hereby punish you to scripture writing!"

"I accept the punishment!"

* * *

"Volume twenty, please," he requests, holding out his library card.

"Scripture writing again?" laughs the librarian who, by now, has kept an extra copy by her desk at all times. "Don't you still have five more on top of this one?"

"It's how I past the time," he chuckles, taking his place at the lonely and quiet study room at the back of the Library of Law. Out of all the volumes, this is by far the one he enjoys studying the most. There is not a single page without his thumb's print—not a single page with words he didn't understand. Why, if he ever decides to blindfold himself in the same fashion as The Judge, he could locate a page through the scent of the mold alone!

But most of all, he reveres this book as the pinnacle of justice, an achievement that neither Ossyria nor Elluel is even close to.

"Hey," chirps the librarian from behind the unsuspecting boy. "The Judge really should give you a break. Aren't you his student? Can't you just ask him to take out a punishment or two?" She raises a finger up at the bright idea but the boy is quick to reject it.

"No one is above justice!" the boy smiles, setting down the round pen. "And you know how I am with time! It's not my fault I'm always late."

"Oh, I think it is!" she giggles. Even the librarian herself doesn't know this, but this boy is the only one who can manage to make her laugh. "Why don't you look out the window?"

Unsure, he turns to the glass ceiling, the place where a soft glow of light illuminates the boy's work. He loves being under the light—he was born and raised in it and it always reminds him of an innocent warmness. "Uh, um, what's wrong with the window?" the boy cocks his lips, failing to realize his folly… "Holy!" he screams, his eyes widening in realization, "It's already nighttime!"

"And the library is closed!"

* * *

Night in Magcintus is a marvelous thing. Known as the city of light, Magcintus prides itself, among many other things, with its ability to supply constant light. Even after the sun has long gone down, and the stars wash the skies like a blanket of sparks, the light of Magcintus never fades. However, it is still dimmer than usual, and everyone must go home.

A couple walks down the main, lamp-lighted, road leading to the Aurora building. It is during times like these, in the tranquility, that Maple feels tempted to reach out her fingers and touch the boy's hand. But that would be indecent! More so if it's done in nighttime and someone was to find out. She'll blush to no end, especially if her mentor, who never seems to let go of gossip, was to see her holding a boy's hand. _There's no one around so maybe just this once…_

Certainly, it is not rare to spot young love running…rampant…in the city of Magcintus. The couple's lives are already half done—they should be expecting children in a year or so—but romance with this shy, sweet boy is just so impossible! Just once, she would like a small hint of his affection, permission for her to just jump in and give him a hug and a kiss! _What am I thinking? This is so wrong!_

"How is Athena doing?" the boy asks, breaking the silence. This is perhaps the worse time to bring up the baby elven—it always dampen Maple's mood.

"She's doing great! But I kind of wish she wouldn't have to go through the Light Blessing Ceremony." She slumps her head downward at the thought.

Noticing the change in Maple's mood, the boy thinks for a bit. "That is the requirement to be a citizen of this town. Otherwise, she'll be breaking two of our laws."

"Yeah but! Don't you feel kind of sad that we only get to live for thirty years? I mean, we're already going through a mid-life crisis and everyone else is still in their diapers!"

"Isn't that all for the better? We're already leagues above the likes of everyone else. The sacred light has granted us wisdom and power. Athena should feel blessed."

"That's true…" Maple points her head down in defeat. It's already a stretch to let her keep an orphaned outsider, and that wouldn't even be possible if her mentor isn't a member of the Roundtable.

"Well, if Sabrina wins the next election then maybe Athena wouldn't have to go through the ceremony," the boy says, trying to cheer up the discouraged girl.

"You think Master Sabrina has a chance to become the next Judge?"

"No," the boy smiles as they continue their stroll, "but if anyone can replace The Judge, it would be her. If I was a magistrate, I would vote for her."

"Yeah, thanks," Maple quips sarcastically, "too bad you let every opportunity to be part of the Round slip you by. You're the student of The Judge for holy sakes!"

"That's because I still have a lot to learn. The position of magistrate isn't for someone under the age of twenty. It's untraditional."

"Tradition, smadition. If we go by magic alone, you're already far above one or two of the magistrates. And you can remember a whole volume of law! I bet no one else can!" She pats the boy in the back, bringing a confident blush to his cheeks. And with this confidence, he finally takes out a present from beneath his robes. Yesterday, he took time to seek out this gift with Maple in mind…sort of.

"I bought this gift with you in mind," he says even though he really shouldn't. "I hope it'll be useful to you."

"Ooh, what is it?" Maple carefully unwrap the small palm-sized box—after all, he took such care to perfect its appearance, it's up to her to preserve it.

"You'll find out!"

_Could this be a ring? Is he really going to say it? Oh my holy!_ She squeals with delight at the prospect of marriage. She's only been to a wedding once during a rare opportunity, and she can recall everything so vividly: the doves, the flowers, the gown! Oh the wedding gown! It's so silky and soft to the touch—she practically drooled over the gemmed masterpiece. Thoughts of nothing else cross her mind when she says, "I like it," right before revealing the contents of the box.

"I'm glad you do."

"Huh?" Her mouth hangs wide open at the sight of the empty box. There's naught within except for a waxy piece of paper. _Maybe it's underneath?_ Nope. Nothing. Nada. She can't believe what her eyes are telling her! Where is it? Such a nice velvet box can't be used to hold a piece of paper! Is this a joke? No…no… "Wh-what is this…?"

"It's a coupon." Her heart sinks like rain through clouds. "A year's supply of lollipop for you and Athena.

"Huh? Oh!" A light bulb dings above the girl's head when she finally remembers. "Concavity, cavity!" she screams the same nonsense they both always said as children. Back then, when they were barely learning the ropes of Magcintus law, they'd buy a lollipop every single afternoon. She almost forgot about the memory! _I can't believe he still remembers! _"Thanks!" she says, hugging the gift to her heart.

Without realizing it, she embraces the shy, difficult boy. This brings a warm smile onto the boy's lips and, lifting his head, he points his eyes at the tip of the tall building in front of him. This building is the Aurora building, the source of constant magical research and the place where the boy and girl must part for the time being.

"Um, you do know Athena is not my child right?" Maple asks after breaking the embrace.

"Of course. Why wouldn't I?" the boy returns, confusion running through the lines on his forehead.

"Just want to make sure that you know I'm single," Maple giggles. "I'll see you later?"

"Yeah…later…"

And although they didn't get to kiss, the hug is already more than enough.

* * *

Luminous descends the spiraling stairs connecting the surface of Magcintus to Aurora, the underground facilities dedicated to research. Built nearly a hundred years ago, the Aurora of today has gone through so many renovations, the original feels as an afterthought in comparison. Massive pillars and buttresses hinge the perfectly ivory walls in place. Reinforced with magic, Aurora would only collapse during a disaster of epic proportions. Truly, the thought of such a grand, sturdy design takes Luminous' breath away as he steps through the grand foyer to The Judge's hall.

Stained-gemmed windows depicting the generations of Judges flank either side; artificial lighting spreads the colors onto Luminous' path.

The Judge's room is an entirely different matter. Even after years of internship, the difference in setting still upsets his eyes. Nearly as large as the foyer, this room can be described as sparser than a winter field, colder than northern snow. The only things worth mentioning are the desk that blends so well with the surroundings it doesn't appear to exist at all and a whiteboard sitting right behind it. The rest of the echoing space is left to collect dust.

Luminous' knows this is neither fault of The Judge nor his recent appointment. In fact, The Judge is never one to pamper himself with lavish decorations—those belong in the trash bin, or in the case that they're too large, in a storage unit to rot.

And right as Luminous enters the room, he hears a foreigner discussing with The Judge. Not meaning to eavesdrop, he is nonetheless curious as to what topic they would have in common. Or rather what they could be disagreeing on; the conversation is heated but controlled.

"Do not misinterpret my will—I am in no way attempting to offend Magcintus. Instead, I am suggesting that you ally yourself with us." The foreigner raises his head and a jolt courses through the young magician's veins. Luminous have never felt this before so at first it is difficult to put his tongue on it. _This is a bad feeling._ Indeed, that appears to be the only way to describe it.

The foreigner has a scarf covering the lower half of his features, but there is no mistaking the glow of red embers burning through the dark.

"Do not bother with your words. I know full well as to the purpose behind your offer and knowing that, the answer is simply no."

"Please, Judge, I really must warn you to reconsider the possible repercussions in rejecting this offer. There is no telling what my benefactors might do in response to this ignorance," challenges the foreigner with a tired sigh. "You have everything to gain in allying yourself with us."

The Judge stares at the high arch above the room for answers. This choice he must make today is one that will bring many grievances. Luminous, seeing the indecisive lines forming along The Judge's forehead, wants to speak up. Who does this foreigner think he is? No one can threaten the might of Magcintus, not with words alone. And certainly, whatever "gains" there is from their exchange can never move his mentor. He clenches his fists from behind the column where he's hiding.

"Please, I have neither interest nor time to invest on your offer. You can return to those benefactors and tell them to do their worse." The foreigner steps back in shock. There's never anyone who flatly denied the offer with such confidence; he has gravely underestimated this Judge.

Regaining his composure, the foreigner closes his eyes and echoes his last words to The Judge. "Very well. I did not expect the situation to come to this. In actuality, I have prepared a gift for you; you may keep it." He produces a book from beneath his robes. The Judge gives one look at the title and raises his eyebrow.

"Protos. You certainly understand my tastes very well."

"I shall take my leave," he pauses, "for good this time. I don't think we'll ever see each other again." The foreigner gives a bow and turns to the door. Along the way, he crosses Luminous' line of vision, and, out of the corner of his eyes, Luminous sees a finger made of bone pointing right at him. His stomach squelches at the impossible sight. Is this person not living at all? "You've grown, Luminous." The boy stares at him, thinking if it's possible they've ever met. No, never. He doesn't know a bony-handed conspirator!

The Judge notices the foreigner talking to the boy and screams, "Leave at once! Luminous come here!"

"We will meet again, that I am sure," whispers the foreigner so that only he and the one he is speaking to can hear. "Goodbye."

Although the man has left the room, his very air has manifested in the room, remained in it, and corroded it as the man's warnings still ring freely in Luminous' heart. Recognizing that something is troubling the boy, The Judge remarks, "Late, as per usual, I see." Luminous tries to smile, bringing out the scriptures that always seem to distract him. "Volume twenty, the one I personally wrote. As pleased as I am, you should know that won't erase nor diminish your stack of duties."

The boy is quick to explain himself. "Of course not! I would never. Rather, this volume is by far the greatest I've ever read. Please don't misunderstand—"

"Think nothing of it." The Judge taps his finger on the table. "You may be surprised that I find the scripture a little outdated…" His thoughts travel away; he owes an explanation to Luminous who obviously heard more of the conversation than he would've liked. "About that man,"

"Please, you do not have to say anything," Luminous jumps in. "My duty is to protect Magcintus, and all I need to know is if he presents a threat or not. If he is a criminal, then I will not hesitate to bring upon him justice."

"Good," says The Judge, nodding in appreciation. "When the unfortunate time comes, when he presents a threat, you will be the first to know." He strokes his chin in thought. "For now, I need you to run an errand for me. Go to Sabrina, and ask for her research."

"Yes, Judge."

* * *

As Luminous approaches Sabrina's laboratory, he recalls his first meeting with the estranged magistrate…

It was a day like any other. It was a day where the sun's rays fall like rain upon the numb cheekbones of a very young Luminous. Behind him were the twin colossus statues: Power and Reason, the symbols of the Aurora building. During any other day, he would've looked up at the twins in awe, but today wasn't any other day. No, today was the day his mother disappeared into the Aurora and never returned. And he was determined to find out why.

"What are you standing there for?" asked the magistrate right as she left the building for her lunch break. How long has the kid been there? Since this morning when his mother passed away, she supposed. "Look, just because you're here, doesn't mean we'll let you waltz in." The kid didn't say a single word, no, he only pointed at the entryway between the statues of Power and Reason.

Sabrina hardly knew what to say—he's not the first poor kid to lose their parents at an early age, and certainly not the last. There's really nothing to be done other than quiet acceptance for the cold-hearted death sentence at the end of one's life. Almost, her heart broke for this boy. "I know you have a home kid. Just go back and we'll have work for you to do. The city will take care of you." Luminous refused to budge an inch.

"Kid, loitering is a crime. You know that right? And I'm not going to hesitate putting you in my courtroom to get you off the road." He held his wrists up to his head, daring the magistrate to arrest him on the spot. That's when she saw a little spark—a faithful gleam—in his eyes. Right then and there, she understood that if this kid is properly raised, he can become someone unexpected. Indeed, he had the resolve.

Giving up, the magistrate said, "Take this." Sabrina placed a simple, stringed charm over the neck of the kid. "It's the armor I've forged for myself. Call out my name to wear it, and if your tiny feet are careful enough, you just might pass the guards and researchers. Look for the engine room, your mother should be there." Sighing, the magistrate prepared herself for her well-deserved break when the kid tugged the back of her shirt. "What!"

"Your armor is too big, lady," said the boy, his first words in a very long time.

"Well, you know magic right? Figure it out. Impress me." Scratching her head, she turned to leave when the boy tugged her shirt again. "What is it this time?" Sabrina fumed.

"I don't know your name."

"What do you mean you don't know who I am? First name Magistrate, last name Sabrina. And that's how you're going to call me from now on." She shoved the boy, pushing him a few steps back and off the road.

As Sabrina left, she quickened her pace. Luminous shrugged and picked up two broom sticks—_these should work as stilts_—and called out Sabrina's name into the necklace. Magical light enveloped his body and condensed itself into the shape of a magistrate's armor. Standing on the brooms, he made his way into the sacred Aurora building. _Wow…this is…huge. Bigger than my house! _Momentarily, he had forgotten about his mother until two researchers passed him by. _Where could the engine room be?_

Locating the engine room wasn't a problem—not at all—since there were so many signs on the wall, one might imagine the workers here got lost quite often.

He peeked through the slits in the armor and followed the signs like a machine. Soon, he arrived at the engine room. However it wasn't something he'd expect in a million years. Standing in the middle of the large room was the source of Magcintus' light: the Flower Engine's stem. Legend has it that this plant, larger than even the World Tree, came about through a seed dropped from heaven—its stem: a pillar of light disappearing into the skies; its petals: the transparent dome that covered and protected Magcintus.

A man, barely in his twenties, raised his head at the peak of the flower in admiration and pride. There was something about him that radiated simplicity, not the common regularity found in commoners, but the simplicity that elicited deep intrigue. There was a beauty in the way he stood there by the stem, his arms folded behind his back. Instinctively, the boy drew closer to the man like a songbird to the tunes of a violin.

Before he got too close, the man raised his fingers upon the armor and chanted, "Dispel." The sudden spell dispersed the armor into the light it is made of and startled the boy enough to fall backwards. The man gave a smile and picked the boy up; Luminous' eyes did not stray from the stranger. "Do you know what this is?" the stranger asked in a deep, hearty tone. Luminous shook his head. "This, my young friend, is where we put our souls."

"Soul?" Confusion spun across Luminous. "So, our ghosts are here?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. The man laughed.

"Ghosts! Why of course not! A soul embodies the worth of a human being—an autobiography if you will, although less abridged and more factual. Hence, it would be foolish to ponder the beginnings of one's soul, but one's end." As the man spoke, he brushed the boy's hair intensely, swinging his head to and fro like a leaf in the breeze. "Tell me, what is your opinion on death?"

The man laughed excitedly, almost maniacally; it sounded like he's mocking the boy—laughing at the idea of death when it was nothing but pain. The man stopped and solemnly asked, "Your mother passed away recently, didn't she, Luminous?"

"Yeah…," his eyes fell upon the ground, tears, rolling around his eyelids, refused to fall. "How did you know, mister?"

"I know because I was the one who performed the rites of her soul's passing." He laid a gentle hand on the boy's shoulder and moved him so that he was facing the stem. The soft, beautiful glow washed the boy's cheeks with a small, yet noticeable feeling of hope. "Dying is not melancholy, my child. Tell me, what is it like to finish your favorite novel?"

"I don't know…Happy?"

"Complete. What makes our souls complete is the end of the personal autobiography. Our souls are guided by the light, and in turn, our souls embed our lives with words. Death is the moment when our souls returns to the light, and guides the next generation. That is the cycle of life; your mother's soul rests here." He pointed a finger at Luminous' heart, then at the stem, and finally to his own heart.

"I…" Tears swelled; they dropped. "I…I want to protect the light!"

…

…

"I want to protect the light," Luminous tells himself when nearing Sabrina's lab. That happened six years ago.

Pressing his armor's necklace close to his heart, he opens the door of the person who had given him his first armor.

* * *

"Master Sabrina, I'm back!" Maple announces, setting Luminous' gift on the bite-sized table she calls a lab station. Her master is deep into work—an ink pen scribbles madly onto empty paper. She doesn't react to Maple's greeting because she hasn't reached the period yet, and an unfinished sentence is as evil as unfinished food. And the sentence is quite long too, giving Maple ample time to change into her lab coat, feed Athena from the milk bottle, and fix a sandwich to set onto Sabrina's much larger lab station.

"What chu going?" Maple asks, taking an innocent peek at her master's work. "That's a run on sentence," she points out, putting her finger at the part where the period should've been. Sabrina scratches the length of the paper with ink and shoves the incomplete manuscript aside, spilling a vase of snow roses off the edge.

"So, did bearer boy kissed you yet, Ms. Assistant?" teases Sabrina while she takes off her spectacles and opens her arms to embrace her one and only student. "Oh, and you will get the broom right?" she says, pointing at the spilled water and shattered glass. Maple gives her a cross between a pout and a sigh and returns with the broom and pan. Her master rises off her seat, reminding the girl just how insignificant she is compared to the taller, older woman. Intelligence aside, Sabrina is, most of all, beautiful in every way imaginable. It is impossible to find a child in Magcintus that didn't see her as a second mother.

"Of course not." Maple purses her lips. She takes her eyes away from Sabrina and proceeds to the mess by the table. "Only you will ever kiss me." Arms caresses her from behind, and, with her cheeks, Maple touches the wisps of Sabrina's strong, tender hair—another quality Sabrina has over Maple. Surely, the only reason Luminous ever speaks to her is to be closer to Master Sabrina? The thought has its merits.

"Don't be silly. Come morning, I will whip up a good love potion and you'll bed him in seconds."

"Master! Please don't do that! How can you even suggest such lewdness? He probably doesn't see me as a potential mate…"

"Then he needs to stop shoving his carrots around the dishes! He's too young to start losing his vision!"

"He's not blind," Maple giggles, placing Sabrina's arms aside so that she may resume the cleaning. "But he's practically so. Is there a potion for shyness?"

"The only cure for shyness is confidence. And confidence comes when one dares to be more expressive with one's own body." The older woman whispers into Maple's ear, so softly, so quietly, but so much like a moan.

"B-B-B-Body?" The girl can't help but be flustered by the thought as Sabrina presses her finger onto Maple's chest and outlines a few shapes. "I-I-I'm going to see Athena now!" She leaves the broom by the desk and quickly disappears into the bedroom.

Sabrina giggles. Ah, young love… She had never experienced it before and never will. She turns to her research and love fantasies, the two things that has always been her life. Tossing her hair like a scarf around her neck, Sabrina examines the crooked shelves and her hand-written documents—her breakthrough trophies that gave fame as well as dust. Yes, her knowledge surpasses the Judge's own, yet she'll trade it all for a husband other than her work.

"Maybe one day," she sighs, "I'll get to leave this city to a place where thirty-five isn't considered old." But all she can realistically wish for is the happiness of Magcintus itself for, yes, her death is neigh. Thirty-five years of living, far past her life expectancy…

Lost in her own thoughts, Sabrina didn't notice the boy appearing by her doorway. "Magistrate Sabrina," he begins, "I'm here as per—holy bell's lunchboxes! Why are there shards left on the ground?"

"Did Maple sully the floor again? Confounded," the magistrate says nonchalantly. "I'll send her to your chambers tonight so that you can admit proper punishment for whatever injuries you may have sustained from the glass." Sabrina grins and, upon seeing him, immediately takes him in a light yet adoring hug.

"Oh no no, please don't send her to…to my chambers," he stammers and slurs at the same time. "I'm only here to request a recent summary of your work, if possible," Luminous requests, his composure almost regained. Almost.

"Are you sure? I'll let you borrow my whip."

"Whip!" He's never heard of Sabrina owning such a thing.

"Yeah, I used it for—" she stops herself and rethinks her words wisely, "recreational purposes. In my room. You should try it too; it's quite illuminating. Maple's in her room right now." Those last words come out as a sigh next to Luminous' ear, and the ends of his hair shivers. "Did I ever tell you the story of the Round's bet?"

He gulps. There's a bad feeling…

"The magistrates and I had a pool about a month's back about who you'll end up with. And that fool you crowned a Judge had a nerve to bet against me! I'll let you know, I'm a firm supporter of you taking my protégé's hand in marriage." The magistrate hooks the boy's with her lovely arm and drags him closer and closer to Maple's door.

The boy can't decide which is more unsightly: the thought that the magistrates gossiped about his social life or that the Judge gambled. "I do not wish to focus on marriage yet. There's still much I want to accomplish…"

"The more time you spend accomplishing is the less time you'll have procreating the next generation of magicians and wizards."

"Please Magistrate…," Luminous begs, moving aside Sabrina's hand. "I'm only here for the summary of your research."

Sabrina heaves a sigh. "Alright bearer boy… Come tomorrow, you might lose your chance to date my precious little girl. Being the Judge's assistant attracts the attention of lots of boys…and girls," cheekily laughs Sabrina. She turns to her work table and picks up a stack of papers bound together by the thick strings running the papers' side. "Tell him to have fun while it lasts. What are your bets on the results tomorrow?"

"The election is not of my concern." He holds his arms out to hold the summary and surprised by its weight, he almost tumbles into the ground. "Oof," he cries and steadies himself. "My loyalty is to Magcintus and the Judge, regardless of who he or she may be."

"Yeah, yeah. Oh here," she adds another file onto the pile, "this is for you. It's the results for your blood test. It was done a while back, but it always slipped my mind. Try not to read it until after tomorrow."

"Why?"

The older woman leans into his ear. "Because I said so." And she needn't say more to get the boy to leave her lab. He isn't far down the hall when Maple calls for him.

"Luminous! Luminous!" she repeats. "This is for you." She places a crudely wrapped gift onto the already unbalanced stack of papers.

* * *

"Judge, I have the document you've requested." He happily puts the thick, blunt weapon next to the other summary stacks Sabrina spent time writing. The Judge sweeps his finger over the letters, feeling the bumps of Sabrina's impressive cursive as if it's a design woven from silk. There's an odd arrogance in The Judge's eyes but Luminous pays little attention to it. It is understandable, after all, to be threatened by the reminders of your biggest rival prior to an election.

"Judge, may I ask," Luminous rubs the side of his arm, thinking that it's a childish thing to say, "Do you gamble?"

With both hands rested on the bottom of his back, The Judge lets out a laugh. "Only once as a sport—you are referring to the one between me and Sabrina." Luminous cocks his head sideways at his master's quick confession; The Judge lifts the gift and blood test results aside to flip the first page of Sabrina's summary. "Betting against you and Maple is in no way a display of doubt. If you believe Maple to be your mate, then I'd gladly lose to Sabrina. What's your opinion?"

He doesn't know what to say. A long time ago, he did have a childish affection for the girl and those feelings have carried over to the present. He looks at the stripes on the gift for answers but none comes; he have to admit that he have no idea what to feel. Meditating on thoughts of the girl brings both happiness and confusion.

The Judge senses what he believes to be hesitance and tells Luminous there is no need to speak further on the subject. Just then an armored soldier knocks on the door and enters; Luminous immediately recognizes the person beneath the black armor to be The Judge's voice. "Judge, sword bearer. I have…news." The sudden reluctance, the pause, didn't escape unnoticed and Luminous wonders what he could be hiding.

"There is no need to be discreet. At this point, it is better that Luminous also knows about this." The Judge nods purposefully. "Please, what is the news?" His voice is low, almost afraid even.

"It is true." The way the voice says those words, with such finality and disbelief, makes Luminous wonders what expression the helmet conceals. "Master Sabrina is researching the subject of darkness." The boy is shocked by the claim and before he can stop himself, he slams his fists on the table, demanding an explanation. "It is true." The one thing he'd sworn to forever oppose—could Magistrate Sabrina really be trying to unlock that Pandora's Box?

"The darkness is a counter to the Flower!" cries Luminous, "Are you suggesting Magistrate Sabrina's plotting to do harm to our very lives?"

"I am not sure of that myself," says the voice in a whisper.

"Then you have no proof for your outrageous assumption." He clenches his fist; he doesn't want to think that someone as close as a mother is so dangerous. "For all you know, her research is for understanding our collective enemy."

"That is why I urgently need The Judge to confirm the evidence." He disperses his armor, revealing a blonde man—his haired naturally gives him the look of a lion. Otherwise, no one really pay much attention to him; he enjoys being in seclusion. Today, however, his actions are anything but and he pulls out a set of papers that can only be written with Sabrina's hands. "I've obtained these from Sabrina's shelves. It is difficult for me to fully understand it."

The Judge takes a look for himself and it only confirms his suspicions. "This is not good," he gravely mumbles. "Preposterous. How could she do this behind our backs?"

Luminous opens his mouth in shock. "So it is true then? I must stop her, before she takes further steps into the pit."

"I fear it might be too late. These postulations are very…advanced. She may very well have been researching for years."

The boy looks away in frustration. "How is this even possible? Why would Sabrina do such a thing? The light that embodies the life of all things—it can't be as willingly cast away as the clothes we outgrow."

The Judge scrutinizes at the crystal bulb lighting the room, searching for the difficult answer that is nowhere to be found. Perhaps, it has already been lost in the blackness, absorbed within it like the fragile colors of hope. Luminous fingers the present, the gift that Maple had given him just moments ago. He needs to imagine the light as the smooth surface of the gift wrap, unopposed…perfect. He refuses to acknowledge the small scratch his finger glances over.

"The void of darkness is dangerous, deadly even. But it can also be powerful in its allure, mysterious in its deceitfulness. If light is never given a meaning, perhaps darkness shouldn't have to exist…" contemplates The Judge to himself.

"It's against our laws! She has to be judged!"

"No!" cries The Judge, using his authority to stop the boy from making rash decisions. "We cannot be premature! Come tomorrow…we'll sort things out."

"The election—"

"I will have no protest. With tomorrow looming about us, it will be your duty as sword bearer to remain in full form. Return to your chambers and not a word of our discussion."

"Yes…"

* * *

Magcintus' Election Day is not an event, in many sense of the word. There are no bold speeches, no fireworks, no celebration. It is a day like any other: the citizens still harvest, the soldiers still patrol, and the laboratories still function round the clock. Rather than contribute something, this day takes away something: the daily trials. The Judge and magistrates collect at the Roundtable, which is less of a table and more of a metallic platform inside of Aurora. They come in weaponless and donned in armor.

"What happened to the voice?" asks Sabrina when The Judge arrives. They are by far the earlier ones.

"He had matters to attend to. No matter, he is not bound to appear for this occasion. I've only brought the sword bearer for audience," explains The Judge, holding his hand out as Luminous walks by.

"Magistrate Sabrina," Luminous bows. She returns the gesture and takes her place in a circle.

Today is the day where leadership of the Roundtable is passed on: specifically, the one with the most votes shall be declared The Judge. Whoever obtains this position will have full authority of Aurora's research facilities, strict influence on rewriting the volumes in the Library of Law, and power over half of Magcintus' military. In a global perspective, The Judge's readily available power is above that of any other monarch, whether human or otherwise.

"May the light guide us to the rightful victor," blesses Magistrate Sabrina. The other magistrates enter in slow dramatic motion—armors sounding to announce their majestic steps. While it has never occurred in the history of Magcintus, the magistrates don their armor to prevent anyone from using force to obtain the election. And as an added precaution, everyone must discard their weapons outside of the Roundtable chamber to be collected after the new Judge is determined.

"Order!" cries The Judge and the armored magistrates gather in a standing circle. Luminous stands by the railings at the side of the platform where he can watch without disturbing them. "We are here today to elect a new Judge for Magcintus. The proceedings are simple. We each cast one vote and the one out of us twelve with the most shall obtain my current title. Questions before we begin?" Silence. "Good. We shall begin with me. Those who would want me to remain as Judge, raise your fists into the air."

Luminous sees six hands, including The Judge's own, forming a semicircle in the air. It's the first election Luminous attends, and it is already heading towards the worst case scenario. He wants someone to cut in and declare the victory; it is The Judge who fulfills that role. "It is an honor to be held in such high regard amongst my colleagues," says The Judge, a tense seriousness punctuates every word.

A voice cuts through the air. "Hold it!" One of the armored magistrates steps into the circle. "You only have half of the votes—one short of a true majority."

"Yes," The Judge starts, "but I hardly think the rest would unanimously vote for someone else. Besides, a tie vote would be quite problematic."

"But we have decided unanimity despite the conflict it would create. We hereby offer our collective votes and support to Sabrina." There are no discussion, no disagreements between the six who have yet to vote. Rather, the way they position themselves around Sabrina already proves that this unanimity is agreed upon prior to this day.

"Outrageous!" shouts one of The Judge's supporters. "She is of old age and about to retire at any moment. Giving her the position—"

"Silence!" screams the Judge. "We will not discriminate the position of Judge. If indeed, the light has decided to shine upon her, then we must respect the outcome." All eyes point at Sabrina who has yet to say a word. After a few seconds of contemplation, she unveils her helm and walks until she is two steps from The Judge.

"This is my opinion on the matter." Her voice is calm, collected and daring as expected of someone who could at any moment take control of half of Magcintus. The other magistrates move aside to make space for the two contestants. "I hope you won't take offence at my honesty. Over the years of your judgeship, you, Judge, have brought upon us impure knowledge." She spread her arms out as if there is a joke to be said.

"What are you implying?" asks a magistrate. "Are you telling The Honorable Judge to step down?"

"Of course! Don't you see what The Judge has done? His perverse mania for the words of mortals has driven us away from the path our ancestors paved." She points a condemning finger at the man in front of her. "You are perhaps too young to remember, but there was a time when Magcintus didn't have Elven books."

"What is wrong with Elven books? Don't we pride ourselves with our acceptance of all knowledge?"

The female magistrate turns to the speaker. "Where is your pride, magistrate? This so-called knowledge is nothing but pseudo-magic! Magcintus have come to rely on these questionable documents that, thus far, have led us and our children astray. Is that not a problem?" She sweeps her eyes across the room. The cry of the magistrate lingers within the metallic helmets of the Roundtable.

Different thoughts spread from the seed of doubt Sabrina planted into the magistrates mind. They readily plant it, water it, and watch the young saplings bear fruit all on its own, no matter how ridiculous her accusations may be if said by someone less respected. Little by little, the armored magistrates shuffle around the room until they all stand behind Sabrina.

The Judge neither flinches or reacts to the sudden turn of events—no, that satisfied smirk is almost foreboding, the sign of someone who have been feigning nervousness to bait the chips onto the table. Sabrina shakes the thought out of her head—but The Judge's own seed of doubt has already taken root. "Marvelous," applauds The Judge. "Please, everyone clap! Sabrina is a strong magistrate, and has been part of the Roundtable longer than even I. If there could ever be someone to singlehandedly bring down Magcintus, it would be her."

"Are you trying to insult my ability as Judge?" snaps Sabrina. "Especially compared to an elf fetishist?"

"I'll let you know my personal favorite non-Magcintus scripture is not of elven origin. And neither is yours. Magistrates! If dramatic reveals are in our agenda for today, then allow me to uncover the evils to Sabrina's research."

"What are you blathering about?"

"Your guilt, of course. Do you not admit that you are currently researching the properties of darkness?"

"What of it? It is research that allows us to understand the force that opposes us."

"If that is the case," The Judge dissipates his armor so that he is unprotected from head to toe. From his robes, he pulls out a series of documents penned and signed by Sabrina. "Do tell me how learning to wield the darkness has contributed to our goals."

"You're saying that I'm wielding darkness? Why in blazes would I do that? Judge, perhaps work-related stress has contributed to an acute madness. Someone, please call a doctor."

The Judge grips her shoulders, holding her in place, and making her focus on his lips. "My dear, you wouldn't need a doctor where you're going."

"Is that a—" Magistrate Sabrina lets out a shriek of pain and falls onto her knees.

"What are you doing?" screams a magistrate.

"Get away from her!" cries another.

"Do not be alarmed! This is simply her execution," decrees The Judge, holding out his palm so none of the magistrates move forward. Sabrina clutches the open artery at her neck, slowing the blood so that it only drips off her fingers. Her spectacles fall off her eyes and the world becomes an indiscernible blur of colors. Before she can pick it up, she hears the shattering of glass beneath ones feet.

"So it has come to this?" laughs Sabrina, however weakly it is. "You have decided to grasp the election for yourself." Her voice is distant, almost in another plane of existence, in a void where she is the only one to listen to her words. "I admit it. Indeed, I did learn how to wield the darkness." Her head is weak, but she summons up the anger she had withheld, "You are all fools! The light has blinded you!"

"What are you saying?"

"The truth, magistrate! The undeniable proof that this so-called Cleansing we bless our children is nothing but a farce!" Given any other circumstances, she would never say those words—the effects it'll have will no doubt be unpredictable and irreversible. Empowered by death, fueled by fear, her words flow as freely as her blood; the innocence of Magcintus is no longer as important as the secrets she's been hiding for years.

"Enough!"

"We've strip people of their right to live long fulfilling lives all for the sake of research! I say let it burn! All these years have amounted to nothing, nothing but the conclusion that I've outlived the last generation of magistrates! Why? Because I've accepted the darkness you all so readily discarded!"

"Stop sprouting your nonsense, magistrate," speaks the boy from behind her. "It is unsightly." A swift kick sends the magistrate falling onto her back. The light from above is blinding, comforting, and it is calling for her to join her ancestors. Then, darkness. The boy holding the bloodied knife stands in the way of the light, and like miracle from the heavens, Sabrina sees things so much clearer than ever before. "We're supposed to destroy the darkness to protect the light!" yells the boy, angry to see the facts before him.

What does a person feel when the boy she raised would take her life? There exists a seething pain deep within her chest, an emptiness that far exceeds her lonely years of life. It burns higher than the stinging of flames, and, of course, hurts more than dying on a bed of needles. Her body, nay, her soul weeps at the prospect of seeing bearer boy holding the knife that ended her.

Even so, it's all so trivial now. "I don't blame you for siding with him over me," she lies, but it is a convincing lie. "In a few, short years, even The Judge will join me." And that is the end of her lies. Her next words, those very vital words that will change everything, words that she never had an opportunity to say… Her very last words ring truer than the bells of Justice, and quieter than the falling of tears. "I leave Magcintus in your capable hands," she weakly blesses and death captures her.

Time seems to stop. For a long time, no one knows what to say or do. But for someone as young as Luminous, there is no such thing as a long time. "I apologize for not giving her a proper execution," bows Luminous. "I accept my punishment." Luminous doesn't see it—his face is to the ground; however, the other magistrates did: the familiar expression on The Judge after a verdict. The unsettling plasticity displays no emotion, or at least that's what they like to believe.

In fact, The Judge is content as he always is. Content that he has done justice.

"Very well. Since a new magistrate position has opened, I hereby declare you magistrate—effective immediately. Your punishment for the execution of Sabrina is erased." Luminous rises and turns around to show respect to his fellow peers. And on him is the exact same expression as The Judge's.

In light of the bloodied results, someone still dares to ask, "The election?" but is immediately pulled out of the room. Six to five: it is a narrow victory for The Judge, but a victory nonetheless. And although the election is not an event, per se, this is cause for celebration.

* * *

On the night of Luminous' appointment, through the city boundaries that separates utopia from a boundless desert, one can find short-lived footprints in the sand. She, holding a baby, leaves Magcintus behind her, the city of eternal light where she grew up in but was never really part of. For now, she is heading northward; it will be a difficult journey to the edge of hers and the baby's life. In the middle of the sand, between two stones, there's someone and his polearm. Wordlessly, they follow one another, abandoning the place they once called home, a sunset behind their backs.

* * *

**A/N:** And I'm done with Luminous' story! Next up, Aran. And don't forget to review and tell me how I did with the theme!


	2. 2

_**Letter:** "...but Maha will be there to protect me if anything Bad happens to me! I want to go on an Adventure and be a Hero and Protect the people I care about! I'm sorry to say goodbye, but the next time you see me, I will be a Hero! I going to go to..."—from Aran_

* * *

_**Theme:** Write a story that takes place in one setting through the eyes of one narrator._

* * *

**A/N:** I would like to thank StupidityNowOffersWisdom (wordy but effective -.o) for being an amazing, if somewhat absent-minded, beta-reader! Your last comments really struck me and given me confidence.

This chapter is based a lot on description due to the experimental theme. While reading this chapter it is recommended that you listen to some coffee-shop jazz music to fully immerse yourself into the story, as my beta-reader suggested.

* * *

From behind the bar counter, I watch the rain drips from the tip of his umbrella onto the café's pinewood floors. I can always read a customer the same way someone might read a novel by a window table. He's at most eighteen; the visual clue telling me so is the impeccable spread of hair that he takes care to sweep back before folding his umbrella. He stands there, by the entrance, careful in fixing his style, his clothing, and most importantly his shoes—because he knows a woman notices the suede shoes.

He bats his eyes around the room but doesn't find the person he is looking for; it's not a surprise considering it is only the beginning of lunch and he is anxious and early. After watching him struggle, I finally walk over to him and direct him to the table that is close, but not too close, to the fireplace. Most importantly, though, this table is far from the soft chatter of the other customers, lending a quiet haven to listen to the rain.

Handing him the menu, I can't help but notice the way he twirls the fork with an uncontrolled gentleness. I can tell he's not hungry; he's not here for food at all, is he? Not yet at least, and I recommend him a cup of coffee to start. "Latte please." And I pour it for him slowly because I really love the sound of the rain by the playful crackles of fire.

Moving pass the dew-dropped windows, I see a woman in a yellow dress holding a yellow umbrella. It matches something I've seen, and turning back, I finally realize why; it matches the young customer's hair color. Is it a coincidence? He doesn't seem to notice the woman at all, his eyes still drawn to the menu he has no interest in. The bells of the door jingle when she enters; a light rainy touch sprinkled her white curls.

The dress does no justice to bring out her light blue eyes—and she would've known that if she didn't rush to buy it. I can still see the price tag tuck under the side of the frills. Still, it is rude for a waitress to point it out carelessly, so I keep it to myself when she seats herself across from the man. She's a first time customer as evident by the way she straightens her shoulders when she sits. As a matter of fact, it's her first time meeting someone for a date—her voice is weak and straightforward, lacking any playfulness.

Returning to the back of the counter, I pour myself a cup of the same latte while I watch the couple by the fire, by the window. I can't hear their slow exchange, but there is something about the way she tilts her legs under the table that tells me they have trouble looking at each other in the eye. No…they are looking at each other, but not in the eye. The nose perhaps; yes, that must be it.

It is strange to look at someone in the nose.

They know about one another enough to show respect by looking at each other when they speak. Then why are they so uncomfortable?

There's no time to guess anymore as five minutes have passed without me noticing, and it's time to take their order for the day. They're hungry by now, yet the way they focus their attention at each other distracts them from feeling so. I go ahead and recommend them spaghetti, one plate for two. I know she likes the idea the moment I suggest it; she's actually a playful one forced to tone down for today. Before I forget, I also ask her what she'd like to drink. "Same as him."

And I pour her a cup as well. They start to talk, to giggle in a voice that could be comfortable for some but not others. Still, no one's close enough to hear what they have to say. And I can't help but wonder what could be so funny that she doesn't notice the obvious and careless coffee stain on the young man's buttoned shirt.

I can always read a customer the same way someone might read a novel by a window table. And something about this novel playing out by the fireplace tells me this isn't going to be the last time I'll see them.

Satisfied and with my shift for the day done, I go out the back and let the precious rain run down my face.

* * *

It is a rainy spring day, and, even though it is only before dinner time, the sky is still a dull-lit gray and the streets busy with post-work bustling. No one is hungry enough to come in, leaving no one but the waiters and waitresses fidgeting at the store's front and the band prepping in the back. Smells of spices and soup wafts from the kitchen into the room, and combined with the scented candles, gives the atmosphere a savory flavor.

A piano had come in this morning, a used item kept in better-than-expected condition and now lies in the back where I'm sitting and listening to the rehearsal. The owner had asked me for artistic input on redecorating the café to accommodate the band and instruments, and in keeping with the warm wood theme, I had the piano keys be painted to look like redwood. The café now feels like a tree house born from a tree and shaped itself into a restaurant. If anything is out of place, it is the glass fixture on the ceiling that contributes nothing other than a moody, some might say, romantic lighting.

As the music intermingles with the aroma, I find myself pushing both off to the side to better concentrate on the rain, on the really quiet thunder that is never really quite there. Still, I hope the rain never ends. I can fall asleep…

The familiar jingling of bells pulls me back to the natural restaurant, to the kitchen and the music, to the customers that had just arrived and need tending to. In minutes, the restaurant fills with the noise of customers, people from all walks of life seeking a moment indoors away from the business of life. This is my favorite time, the quaint moment when I return to the counter and enjoy the hours of a waitress.

Once the moment is settled like a panorama, I attend to a woman alone off to the side, twirling her fingers around the ice cubes in her near empty cup. She's in deep thought; from the way she focuses on the glass, one might assume there is a hidden, cloudy picture in there. There's only one thing that can plague her mind so: the future, the uncertainty of what will happen next.

Understanding that, it is still my job to recommend drinks and collect tips and so the first thing I do is ask her if she would like a refill. She had a cold coffee; I can tell from the smell of her open words and the alert of her eyes. Is she glad that I interrupted her thought? Maybe not, but she asks for a warm coffee, and I understand: the coldness must've unsettled her, confused her.

There is a certain magic to holding a warm mug in hand—especially when surrounded by these mahogany halls, under the melodies of raindrops and fire. She starts talking to me, uncaring what she is saying. She understands there are no secrets in the restaurant, and her fingers stop twitching, almost like I've given her a mantra before I even say a single word. Her story is one of unwitting love, one that is fun to watch but not experience. She is afraid and her eyes constantly check the time.

"…and he just got his promotion today. So I really want to ask him, you know, to brighten up his day even more. But it could also have the opposite effect, you know?" Her thoughts wander, and I pull her back to the safeness of the restaurant.

"Don't worry. He'll say yes." And I am certain because there is a man that has just entered—a man at the front with his focus entirely on her. He doesn't notice the cluttered conversations and complimented music. All that he sees is the gem that invited him here today.

So, I step back, put myself at the side to watch the conclusion that is already determined, the happy ending of their love story.

And when they make small talk with one another, the giggling reminds me of another rainy day a ways ago. Did I see them before? Perhaps and perhaps not—there are many people who come and go every day and it's easy to put a blank face on everyone. But not me, no, I read people like a book and that is how I know…remember the people I seem to have trouble finding. I put people into words so that I may predict their thoughts.

"Maha, will you marry me?" she says.

His face switches between many different emotions and finally he lands on the correct one: joy.

Just then the owner of the restaurant approaches me with his own shocking proposal. "I'm starting to get old and unsure of myself. I hate to sound imposing, yet, I find it hard to see this special place disappear. Please, consider taking this restaurant from me."

And I smile.

* * *

Swiping the cloth across the table, I, curiously, recount the numerous times I've cleaned this particular table, the one by the fire place, away from customers and near the window. A person who sees it naturally assumes it is old because of the wood it is made from. The dark lines of the sand-papered surface, like ink-drops in water, stretch from side to side of the circular tabletop, giving the illusion that the world is made of wrinkles and rivers. This is my favorite table, and the customers are right. This table is the oldest one, seated the most customers.

Satisfied, I lift up the cloth to see my opaque reflection on the old world.

A man appears beyond the window that separates the restaurant with the outside. The wind batters him, swinging his hair behind him while he covers something with an arm and his coat. It's a small basket for a toddler.

The man takes a turn and enters through the front door. It has never occurred to me that my restaurant is family friendly—after all, we have a bar. But that is shallow of me, and it is morning. As the two passes by, I take a peek at the baby. Although he holds more traits in common with the mother, nevertheless, he still has the father's attentive eyes and nose. I can just tell he'll grow up into a sensitive, assertive man.

I sit the two at the table I recently cleaned, handing them a menu I recently redesigned. The man's surprised at the new main dishes I've discovered from a foreign cookbook and immediately asks me for recommendations. I think about it for a moment—it is a first for me to consider proper nutrition for a baby. Milk comes into mind, but he is a toddler and needs much more than that to grow tall and strong. Finally, I settle on porridge, the perfect morning breakfast for those seeking something soft and easy to digest. He also asks for a coffee and smelling nothing, I tell him it'll take a while.

I start the brew—let it simmer to boil out the sweet, thick flavor inside the center of the coffee beans. The man sets the baby onto the very center of the table. He sprays a folder of documents in front of him and flusters over them. At first glance, I guess that he's reading something intense, perhaps elven. But he isn't a scholar; the way he holds a spoon is more reminiscent of a knife than a pen. He's too well dressed, and too mature to be a hooligan, not to mention that this establishment isn't the most popular spot for anyone other than the well-versed or well-dressed.

When I take the porridge to his table, he notices my presence with his trained ears and shuffles the documents together, and in my professionalism, I opt to honestly not take a peek at the visible front page.

Still, he makes chit-chat.

"Quiet day huh?"

Most of the time when someone makes small talk with me, they attempt to trifle with me. But not him, no, he is a father, and a very devoted one as evident from the way he polishes his ring. Dark shadows run below his eyes and nervousness over his brows. Not knowing what to say, I did so anyways, "it is morning, sir."

"Morning…today…tomorrow… Time is wicked to those quickly losing it," the man says, probably more than he should or wants. "Please tell me what I should do." I do not reply; it is not my duty to do so, and I hate to bring confusion into the walls of my restaurant.

I smell coffee. "Enjoy your meal, sir." And I go back into the kitchen, pass the inactive chefs and pour the latte into the cup. On the foam, I write a single word: wait.

When the man reads the message he tries his best at smiling and says, "Tomorrow. Everything will be over after tomorrow."

* * *

Spring is the time of light rains.

Today is yesterday's tomorrow.

The restaurant is busy, but the employees are relaxing in the sidelines, watching the full house having a quiet moment with the music.

This is one of those timeless days without rush, when the city is on holiday and everyone indulge in their favorite activities whether it is reading, writing, singing, or having a good time. I peer out the window at the black, white, and gray sky. The clouds completely obscure the sky, leaving monochromatic shades that give an impression of sadness.

But that is only an impression; what I am truly feeling is something else. I try to put it into a single word, but something within me prevents me from doing so.

Here I sit, at the seat closest to the fireplace and the window, looking up at the sky, sipping a warm drink, contemplating what it is in my heart.

I take out the note pad and pen in my pocket and scribble my crude attempt at poetry. I doubt anyone will ever appreciate these words or put it in any kind of regard.

I am ready to put it into a word.

Enjoyment.

And that shall be the title of the poem.

Enjoyment.

I lose myself in the pen and paper, picking and choosing the words which express my thoughts with the most accuracy.

I don't notice, until it is too late, the body that flies through the window, sending shards of glass and wood over my poetry. The restaurant enters into a state of momentary shock, then panic, and finally stillness as everyone exits except for me and him.

Almost immediately, I recognize him, the man from yesterday with his baby underneath his raincoat. He has multiple shades of red splashed aimlessly over his clothes and I think he is a killer until I see that he still holds his pole arm. His appearance is so quick that I freeze in shock, wondering what I should do as people flood outside the restaurant. I fear approaching him.

And from beneath the broken glass, he groans from pain, rolls to his side and reveals a deep gash below the middle of his chest. The blood stirs me. "You need a doctor right away!" The words instinctively flow from my mouth; holding out a hand, I touch the glass shard lodged into the skin between his fingers.

He twitches in agony. I freeze. "No one will save a criminal," he says, his voice choking with tears and pain. I don't say anything to that, not wanting to think about what he is suggesting. The bright glow of daylight reveals the glistening edges of the broken glass on my fingertips. The man cries out in pain when he twists off the table, rolling over a line of glass in the process. Where does he find such strength to endure the cuts dotting his skin? What emotion could bring about the courage to still stand and run?

I have little time to wonder over the strange scene when a march of soldiers fences the surroundings, bringing with them the scent of deadly magic. They tell the man to surrender at once but from the way he holds his pole arm, I know he has no intention of doing so. What crime has he committed that will compel him to go against the authorities and what is the verdict awaiting him? And why does he refuse to surrender for the sake of the baby on his back—a baby that will clearly be in the center of danger?

"You said it would be over today," I say, recalling the short comment he made yesterday, surprising myself in the process.

"Yes, for me at least. But my son still has time, and so much more opportunities." He uses his weapon as a cane to remain standing and from his pocket he pulls out a pair of rings: one male and one female. "For the window." And he places them onto the table the way a customer lay down their tips.

I point to backdoor exit beyond the kitchen. "You think love can restore the breaking of the window?"

"Not love. Money."

* * *

It's been four years since I've last heard from him, the man who crashed through the windows and paid for it with his rings. I don't know why I've never sold them, and I can only conclude that I like the feeling of keeping them as a necklace around my neck.

And I have, since that time, learned the name of the man: Maha. The name stuck with me the moment I heard it and I can't let go of it ever since. Occasionally, I ask some customers about this man and all I really gather were bits and pieces—not enough to really figure out the puzzle.

What is that puzzle? I want to know why he decided to risk his and his child's life to escape the city.

This is all I've gathered.

Maha was a soldier. He had been one all his life, being brought up as one since birth and destined to be one as his duty. There he met a lady by the name of Anya and the both of them soon married each other—the proposal supposedly uttered in my restaurant. Afterwards, Maha was given the highest possible promotion for a soldier. Yes, his name sounded familiar. Maha. Maha the soldier. I close my eyes and see the blood on his clothes, the living blood of those he never killed.

There lies the paradox: if he truly hated the city, he wouldn't have hesitated to kill. A soldier that spares everyone—what could compel him to harm another human being in the first place? Soldiers are, by nature, forever guilty of pardoned crimes and therefore forever tainted in their souls, but not him, not Maha, whose only crime is escaping with his child.

Maha, why do you interest me so?

I sometimes have a small day dream that he glimpsed upon the world once and wished to, permanently, stay there. Maybe if he was going to live a long, fulfilling life, I could empathize with that day dream. But if it were me, this small little place that makes up my world is enough even if it isn't real.

I wash the old table one last time, one too many time, and the paint flakes away. Underneath is the true table, a sculpted metallic piece, stainless and thus perfect by industrial standards. I realize I'm going to need a new layer of paint, not only on the table, but also across the restaurant, especially on the keys of the piano. It's partially red and also partially black and white now, and the sharp contrast somehow makes me feel depressed.

It's getting late and my brother decides to pay me a visit for the last time and the first time in a long time. We excused each other through our busy lives, yet that is only a lie made to distract ourselves from the tight-lipped animosity between us. My brother is a hard man to read even from my earliest memories of him. Maybe that's why I try so hard to understand people's habits and thoughts. He never appreciated this effort of mines, showing, in fact, how little he understands the heart of a woman. We quarreled, but he was never one to start it and that, more than anything, turned him more and more into an empty black canvas.

I hear, through a closed window, the drops of rain.

My brother hangs his coat on the rack besides the door and loosens his scarf ever so slightly to allow air onto his neck.

"Happy birthday, dear sister," he smiles which is his default posture ever since he began his career. "I thought of a present, and then thought better of it. There is no gift greater than the gift that is family, so I brought pastries for us to share instead."

"Yes, family is important, and I do not deny the joy in me when celebrating all of your birthdays. That is how I think and feel. But perhaps, you can finally tell me what you feel, what it is that you are planning. Please, you know I will not reveal your secrets, so tell me and allow me to console you with my blessings. Consider that as a birthday present for me," I say, trying hard not to beg—not to him.

He seats himself on the table I washed and I sit to his left so I may watch the scenery of water descending glass. "My secrets are for my own enjoyment. That is the nature of secrets. Please, my only wish today is to celebrate your birthday." It could be just me, but I swear there's something eating away at my stomach when he says those words. "It is your most important birthday and I can say, without hesitation, that you have done well just by being who you are."

"How about you, brother?" I ask, hearing a hoarseness coming from within my throat. I try to clear it but it remains there. "What have you done as a person? There are rumors about you: nasty ones that I shake in fear just talking about. Or perhaps the shaking is from one fact that I clearly understand. You gave that order to Maha."

"Do not mention that name, please. He is not worth either of our efforts. But if you must know about him then I shall tell you the little bit that I remember… Are you quite alright, sister?"

I wipe my cloth over the liquid coming out of my eyes, flowing onto my cheeks. "Please," I lean forward, clutching my womb, pleading, running out of time, "tell me what plans you have. There is something here you don't want anyone to know, a secret that I fear may crush your soul. You are my brother, and you know I won't tell anyone. Maha, he would never willingly betray Magcintus or kill his wife, not unless you gave him permission. Why exile a loyal and faithful man? Do you have plans for him? Or does he know something and you forced him to leave?"

"Sister, you are not making sense to me anymore." I jump out of the chair and lunge at him, pulling his shirt close so that he may see for himself the desperation in me. "You must know that certain words, once said, can never be taken back. You are weak sister, barely able to speak anymore. Let me help you onto the table." I grip onto him as hard as I possibly can, summoning energy I should have, yet he pries me away and lays me onto the table.

My head, no longer under the control of my muscles, twists to the side, so I stare at the window. Drops of sun streams through, touching my motionless fingertips.

"Younger sister," he starts, opening the window. A parade of knights in black armor marches across the street and atop them is the young, glistening magistrate. "Do not concern yourself over my sins. Rest in peace knowing that the light is glorious. Rest in peace."

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**A/N:** The spring/enjoyment/poetry segment of the story takes place a day after the Magcintus Election.

As always remember to leave a review about how I did with the theme as well as what are your thoughts on the AU world I'm slowly creating. Next up, the elves!


	3. 3

_**Letter:** "...__however recent events had led me to believe she still have surviving family. I am limited in my ability so I request that you somehow help me return this child to her rightful family. _ _Currently, I am at the Sycamore Inn off the edge of town, and you may visit me any time..."__–to Mercedes_**  
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_**Theme:** Write a story told mainly through dialogue._

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**A/N: **Hello dear readers! The mystery deepens! Shout out to koryandrs and Lumiera for reviewing and adding my story to the favorite list. This took nearly a month to edit so be ready to read some epic, heavy stuff!

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The curse of the elves is simply so: the mothers of all elves will die upon giving their first birth.

* * *

"I must say, it is painful for me to see you go, old friend. Is there any way for me to convince you to stay just another day so that we may discuss the Protos dialogues?"

"I'm sorry, professor. It is time for me to return home to my daughter and sister. I will be writing letters often, and it will not be long before you receive them, unless, on the rare occasion, that I find myself lacking in time to write. Well, my ship has arrived. It is time for us to depart. Best of luck and good wishes for your success in your research."

"Yes."

As Bennaths bids his farewell, he lights the candle of his lantern. Carefully, he makes his way to the middle of the passenger deck, where an empty seat at the left row awaits him. Under the limited light, he struggles to balance his books and luggage on his lap to make room for the other passengers seated next to him. Then the ship engine starts into life and the restless elf pulls his head back in an attempt to sleep.

Before long, a conductor appears from the first-class cabins, holding a lantern in his right hand. He pauses ever so often to bring the glow to the faces of the passengers until finally he finds Bennaths sitting between two others. "Sir," the conductor shakes his shoulders. "Sir."

"Oh, oh yes. What is it?" asks Bennaths.

"There is someone who wishes to speak with you. I am told to bring you to her immediately."

"Who is it?"

"A lady from the first-class cabins. She hasn't given me her name and I do not know who she is. Although, you may recognize her once you see her."

Bennaths looks puzzled at the sudden request. Nonetheless, he decides it is best to see what the fuss is about. "Very well. Bring me to her." The conductor directs the elf to one of the private rooms near the front of the train. Although it is by comparison much wider than Bennaths' former location, the room is nonetheless small and cramp. Because of that, he has no trouble seeing the shadow of the lady in the long fur coat and the circular-brimmed hat. The conductor excuses himself, closing the door along the way, and leaves Bennaths luggage right by the door.

The lady in the coat and the hat motions for Bennaths to sit on the small table with the candelabra. "No, it is fine. I can stand."

"I have words I am required to share with you and I fear it may take longer than I anticipate. So please, have a seat—I insist."

"What is the matter? Forgive me for being presumptuous, but I don't believe we have ever met. I'm perplexed as to what is there to discuss over."

"Then allow me—" she stops to cough into her gloved hands, "to give you a name. But before I do, I must tell you that this is the last time I will speak directly to you."

"Then how do you suppose we communicate? Through written words?" asks Bennaths, noting the stacks of blank paper and an ink pen besides the lady. She hands him her first paper,

_Yes. And I request that these words I write be burnt as soon as you've taken them in. What I am about to disclose to you, I wish it to be kept with utmost secrecy, and thus the precautions I have. Please comply with me, for I know much about Elphias, the missing queen. I am, no was, her servant back during those years._

"Wait, you can't be—"

"Shh." _Please, refrain from speaking. I have discarded my identity a long time ago and I am nothing more than a commoner. For the sake of my new and peaceful life, I ask that you agree to my terms. Just read what I have to tell you._

"I agree. Just tell me all you know," Bennaths says with much eager.

_In order for you to understand all that I know I need you to understand that I am not a psychopath. That is, I do not do horrid things for my own mere pleasure. And for you to understand who I really am, I have to start from the very beginning with the birth of your sister._

_ The curse of the elves. What a terrible, horrifying thing it is. The mother will draw her last breath upon the birth of her first child; your mother and wife were the same. We suppose, we are all fated to die, but we as people shouldn't be fated to extinction. Otherwise, what goal do we have as living beings of our struggle? Those were the words of Elphias, and in her attempt to preserve the little we have left, she evoked the ban of childbirth. What fool to think she can actually control what elves are to do—she was a fairy so of course she wouldn't understand the pain of the elves. I found it laughable that she believed it possible to fancy such stupidity. The great fairy queen, so full was her pompousness, and so deserving was her end…_

The words break at this point, a stopping of the pen. Those last few words are written with such force that stained blotches bled across the paper, making the words nearly unreadable. Bennaths strains to identify her words in the soundless room. He puts his hands over the word "mother," a word that only carries meaning in Elphias, the fairy queen who ruled with the elves, and the person for whom he held highest of respect for.

Bennaths catches the lady in the hat peering at the letter in his hand and he has to imagine that "mother" carries the littlest of meaning for elves such as her. She makes a sound into her hands and turns back to the window where the outside world passes by.

_I am presumptuous. I do wonder how you feel about the future of our people now that it is in the child's hands to organize us and save us. My adopted sister had something to say about it once, something or another about perseverance. What nonsense! She can't bother to wait for a pot to boil, let alone speak of persevere. She was a cruel hypocrite with a kind of impulsiveness that manifested itself as wickedness when in the presence of anyone. I tolerated her regardless of the unspeakable acts, though, even when she decided, out of spite, to carry a second child for the elven king, your father._

_ What happened next was not foreign to you or me. When your step-mother, died, and looking back at it now, I wished I've found relief in knowing what brought upon her was the justified ends of the destiny she has chosen. If there could be any other way, I might have just enjoyed myself watching as one evil drove another evil insane, impulsiveness against foolishness. But then, I buried my sister and that changed things for both me and Elphias. I watched her on her throne, scolding the world that complied with her, even revering her for protecting the elves. That cannot be fact, and indeed I knew because the world was unfairly cruel and unjustly punishing. I was a noble elf and much wiser than anyone. Elphias has no right to bask in her undeserved glory and the only reason she was capable of doing so was because true evil lied within your fairy mother. The world didn't do justice in keeping her alive…_

He sets the paper down, unable to bear the weight of words so profoundly questionable. He ought to forget this nonsense and leave and pretend to himself these words were never written because burning these letters aren't enough. "You are wrong, you must be," Bennaths says. "This world and my mother are not as cruel and evil as you assume to be. Bearing your losses and the weight of the curse must be too much for you. You should not feel so bitter for a burden we all carry."

The lady in the hat lifts the window open a small crack for air to enter. The fire on the tip of the candle burns higher and smaller, pulsing and flickering. _But did Elphias carry that burden also? Her sympathy was worthless, for her race prospered by the trading of their own wings, shipping endless supplies across the empires of the world. It had made her rich, and she has the luxury of feigning benevolence to our people. It must be difficult for you to imagine your step-mother as a monstrous being. Yes, monsters roamed the dark and possessed us with self-inflicted lies—Elphias was ever the same. Only I can see through the pixie dust covering her vileness because I had not lost my nobility to a fairy._

_ I hope you pardon my expression, but you, Bennaths, had been on her leash for far too long—you had grown trusting of her pixie dust. It was not your fault, as it was not the fault of any elf who was enraptured into her petty speeches. Can you see it, the rage within her when she heard the news of another heir to the elves? That was when my sister carried your sister, my niece, and by law and tradition, my sister had her hand on the throne which was secured when the elf king suddenly died. Do not lie to yourself, Bennaths. Elphias must be enraged with hatred because my sister had her hand on the coveted crown which will be given to your sister should you refuse it yourself. And of course you refused it because she told you to…_

Bennaths closes his eyes, deep in thought. He hears a voice coming from the mystery that lies beyond the sea of consciousness. It is calling to him from the cast off sill of a regrettable moment in memories and it seems this isn't lost to the lady at all. Perhaps she understands what Elphias has told him so many years ago when he's a young man but in a differing noble position. "Power is a burden," Elphias had said. "What power do you have?" she asked and then Bennaths knew he cannot be the successor to the elven throne.

"The world is a beautiful place," Bennaths says, solidifying his thoughts. "How can you be so blind as to call this world a cruel place; how can you so readily make such remarks without pause? Whatever hate you have for my step-mother is not something that destroys the beauty of life."

_Of course you wouldn't understand what it was to be considered outside of Elphias' grasp. Your wholly life was within the façade that Elphias kept. You do not understand what it was to be the sole elf to truly distinguish her fact from her fiction. For a moment, I only had a small hunch, something small and perhaps not worth much of my time, especially if it hadn't involved my sister and her daughter. But because it did, I decided to be her maid and she did not object to it because she could not in her false good conscience reject it._

_ And of course, my involvement with my own niece drove a stake into her plans. You see, she had you under her control; you would not in any way contest her hold. The new child was the problem, and I did not blame her. I knew who she was, how the appearance of a new child drove away and divided the trust of others. That was what she must have believed, and I knew that was what she believed and she believed until she can't stand the attention given to my niece. In a way, that doomed both her and me, made us into monsters destined to fight one another to the death. However, I was of the lesser evil because she was selfish with her pride while I maintained the nobility of knowing I was doing my elven kind a good thing._

_ I am presumptuous and for that I apologize. I suppose you want proof of Elphias' nature, and I will give you what I know. You will then find what I say is truth because you will find that I do not lie or make falseness the same way she does with you and your sister._

_ It was shortly before my sister gave birth to your sister. Elphias had no way of getting rid of my sister once the news of another possible heir to the empire is revealed, and she desperately wanted to either get rid of the child or control the child. At that time, Elphias plotted the murder of your father—_

Bennaths raises his voice. "Impossible! Do you honestly suppose my father's death is conspired? He died from illness and more so, a child cannot present such a threat as to fuel thoughts of murder. The ridiculousness of your unwarranted claims has caused me to conclude that you have nothing important to convey to me."

The lady in the hat continues to look outside the window sill while the candle light flickers to and fro before unceremoniously flickering out, leaving the room in the darkness of tinted moonlight. Flaps of a bird's wing reach Bennaths' ears. Where could it be coming from? It could be outside or it could be from the next door cabin. The lady does not, or pretends to not, notice the new sound or Bennaths. "Give me the facts of the matter. You are fine to believe however you want, but you came here with the purpose of telling me the truth of Elphias' disappearance, do you not?"

She lights a new candle.

_I apologize, then, for causing you to feel ignored. It is unsightly of me to enrage you. However, I do ask that you display scholarly patience because it is important for you to know I do not speak from the viewpoint of a psychopath. Elphias was a monster, she must be, and I will tell you what it was that had taken place._

_ It was somewhere in summer, clearly because the weather was dryer than usual and the leaves are only yellow. The lake beside my humble home was bluer in the morning than during the corresponding twilight probably as a result of the shade of leaves canopying the tree house. In these mornings I woke up to read because it was important for an elf to remain noble through intellectual pursuits. Therefore, I read long after my sister left for her vile business of pursuing men in the center of town. She was the archetype that instilled false beliefs into humans that elves squandered their lives in the day which cannot be true because we cannot afford to loiter given our curse._

_ Still I wanted nothing to do with my disgrace of a sister so I wrote after reading. What I've written the most were letters which I got paid for every now and then when someone needed or wanted something of my particular style but most of the time I wrote for sport, letters to the authors of books I've recently picked up from the bookstore. It is when I was writing to a particular Gordon when my sister came into my room at the covering of afternoon clouds with a dumb twitch in her lips. At first I thought she was only toying with me, like she always did, when she said she toyed with the elf king out of her stupid spite._

_ She explained an overheard conversation between the king and fairy queen. She told me that Elphias' plan was to have the elven kingdom handed over to her as we shrunk to a smaller minority. Although anyone would have reservations, and father even begged me to reconsider what it was I was thinking, but I've been wary of Elphias for as long as I can remember. Yes, I remembered how when I was nothing but a child, there was this fairy child, barely older than me, who sat on a throne, looking at us all with sickened and heightened eyes. From that moment, I never believed a single word out of her mouth, because I saw my sister reflected in her, and my sister was a story-teller and it was a simple matter of imagination to tell childish lies._

_ Have you ever been lied to? It is a great and magical thing because there are a lot of statements in this world. There are statements that we care about and those we don't. Those that deserve our care, we scrutinize and eventually find the truthlessness or truthfulness inherent within it. But the neglected statements are the ones that escape us and wash over us as a drop of water. Now imagine how false our world is when these drops of water collect itself into the biggest waves of lies._

_ Now think about the lies of Elphias. Can you say for certain she never lied to you? You must doubt her as you must all sentient beings because there is more to be gained from lies than from truths, with rare exceptions of course._

_And my sister saw through those very lies and decided to take the destiny of the elves into her own hands by taking for herself the power which Elphias stopped at nothing to obtain. My sister hadn't been blamed, for in her stupid foolishness, she died a noble death giving birth to the girl. And I hadn't been blamed, because I had the noblest of intentions when I opened myself to the noblest household in Elluel…_

After Bennaths burns the paper, he continuously receives another in a chain, disallowing him any questions. In her haste to continue revealing her story, she lifts the edges of her papers and pulls out one which is full of scratches and ink blotches. Without letting it fall on Bennaths' eyes, she places the paper into the fire and leaves it on the ashes to crisp away as autumn leaves beneath ones footsteps. The lady in the hat turns back to the window purposefully and with insistent concentration. For a while the lady appears to be on the distant side of the window, and her only presence in the cabin is in her words.

Her words, yes. He must hurry.

_Allow me to recompose Elphias' crimes so you can clearly see her evil._

_There was a more pitiful reason for wanting to destroy my sister and her child, which won't be beyond Elphias. Ironic, how our curse has taken away our race's livelihood, the same way fate has taken away hers. Never once was that damn pixie able to conceive an offspring of her own, and I could only say that it must've been the work of the malevolent goddess that seek pleasure in seeing mortal suffering. The existence of an elven child threatened her authority over the law, and what can she do really? Kill the mother? The daughter? Ha, my sister was brilliant in her fool's cruelty._

_ How jealous Elphias must've felt to be holding the one thing that stood between her and wicked happiness. I've seen the way she held the baby with utmost care when in the eyes of others, and how it must have disgusted her! I would cry a single tear for her only in mockery of her._

_ That was of course a time when I was Elphias' maid. I've resolved to find out for myself the terror that was Elphias. And how dark it was, how dim her world, her view was, and how impenetrable that pixie dust she used to cover her ugliness. She must have had plans for your sister. Terrible ones that involved control and since she was a baby, brainwashing. But what actually transpired was much darker than what she had done to you, Bennaths. Soon, Elphias found new ways to use your sister and that is through her ability to predict death._

_ It was rather mystical how she's able to capture such a power for herself, born with it as a blessing from the goddess of giving. Perhaps in her struggle to restore the elves' power, she gave your sister the power to prevent the further decline of our people. Your sister proved to be far more effective than Elphias' laughable ban will ever be. This commenced the need to crush your sister even more because even as a child she challenged her, and when this became apparent to me, there was no doubt as to what I know about Elphias. You sister was used for evil._

_ At the beginning, she cried when a person's death becomes imminent, perhaps within a day, a week or two. And it was always the death of someone close by, which made me wonder if her first time crying was because she foresaw the death of my sister. It became increasingly clear that your sister could see death, and in what I liked to call her secret outrage, Elphias began disciplining the baby with pain in a seemingly fruitless attempt to stop the crying. She must have done this secretly with her fingers, pinching the poor child behind the baby blanket to start the signaling tears. Then, invariable someone died._

_ Do you see it now? What Elphias has done? No one questions the death that was foreseen because it must have been the work of the malevolent goddess when in fact Elphias was that goddess that brought sudden death to those who opposed her. She turned the gift into something wicked for the purpose of solidifying her power, and in a frantic haze, the whole castle tried to calm the baby. I hated her because only I knew the truth to her while people continued to worship that undeserved pixie._

_ Why not resist then, you must be wondering? It was for the baby's sake. If I released my breath and committed to spoken defiance against Elphias, I would've been the next to die and then it would become fact that no one was left to oppose her. She would announce to the world, following my death, that it was another act of prediction by the baby, nothing more. And it would be my silent words against hers as to what was the truth and you could see that the world was covered by nothing more than destructive lies, lies which took away a little bit of nobleness in our blood and affirmed her evilness. I swallowed my breath to live so that one day I could obtain proof that Elphias was evil._

_ The feeling I had when I looked at Elphias, then, was one of scrutiny. I saw nothing in her but plans and plots, and indeed every action she took was never one out of charity for the world. There was always something to gain with that fairy, and I must find out what it was. Therefore, I made it my duty to follow her every day and spy on her and listen to her every word. Oftentimes she received letters from who know where because she burned them and ensured they were made into ashes before anyone else entered her room._

_ I must, as my mission to my people, uncover her secrets not with my words, but with undeniable verifications. It has come to my attention that the only secrets Elphias kept are malevolent ones and her letters will be a great asset to me in tearing apart the despicable monarchy. I kept documents inside a hidden alcove beneath my bed detailing the arrival of her letters and the letters she sent in response. Many times I've tried to ask the elven guard who delivered the letter to allow me to send it over to Elphias, but he insisted on doing it himself. All I could gather was the name of the writer, a man by the name of Xavier._

_ I was and still am puzzled as to who this man was. He had no title. It was unthinkable for someone with a position of power to purposely conceal his title, because a title supposed he has a level of prestige and would therefore have no need for hiding. It was then, by process of elimination, that Xavier was a commoner, but someone who was able to correspond with Elphias every other week and whose presence must be kept in upmost secrecy. I knew then, that she had an affair! It must have been. I only imagined how they must've met under drunken circumstances, and I knew there was someone in this world closer to her than her own maid. I hated her because she found a new way to stain my nobility._

Bennaths raises his head significantly from his position on the chair. His lips hang open to recall words he had said and heard in the past.

_Why did you cease your reading?_

"You told me about that name once, Xavier. I know this name and I don't believe there would be any other way for me to know this name."

_Cease your game at once. It is impossible because I've never said such a thing to anyone. And before you disaffirm me, I have good reason to never say anything especially to you who follows Elphias with blank eyes!_

Bennaths thinks over the name for a moment, mulling over it and there it is before him an apparition of the past. It is at once there, and then lost to him, receding into himself and hiding there as to not exist at all. He insists on pulling that lost moment back into the realm of consciousness and just then, he sees the apparition as the fairy queen, Elphias. "There were nightmares. I apologize." Bennaths straightens his sleeves and humbles himself over making a premature conclusion. "I misplaced my thoughts."

_I do not blame you. The night is not young and you are in need of rest as do I. My thoughts are increasingly muddled and I have a need to calm myself down and recollect my thoughts. We'll pick up our conversation again tomorrow._

* * *

Horns blare at the sight of the pier, violently startling Bennaths. His expression is weary and tired from mulling over the night prior. He scarcely could keep his eyes close after the encounter with the lady in the hat. And now, falling back to sleep is impossible as the passengers scurry off the ship. The lady in the hat appears within the crowd, holding her little luggage in one gloved hand, and a pile of papers in another.

"Remember to burn it!" she yells over the blasts of horns. Bennaths takes the documents carefully so as not to drop them and lose them in the crowd. "Guard it with your life!" And then the lady is gone within the wave of elves and humans, disappeared as to perhaps never to be seen again. At that moment, the lady seems even more distant than before, like she had fallen off the cliff of the world in a rush. Bennaths decides it is fruitless to think about the lady any further and he holds onto the papers harder than the books in his luggage. With the papers carefully tucked inside a bag, he travels into the capitol city.

Although technically the prince, there are no fanfares, no guards greeting him along the way. The only one who knows of his return is his sister and if anyone else knows, it would be from her mouth. When he crosses to up the smooth, stone, spiral stairs, he turns back to view the forest of trees past the fountain, the marble pillars, and the flower field. He ponders about every dead elf receiving a tree, every fairy a flower, and they are planted there among the other trees and other flowers because all of nature is whole.

Elphias' flower is there, growing in the field, a small indistinguishable myosotis among all the other colorful flowers. He planted it himself two summers ago before he left his family behind in seek of the cure to the curse of the elves. A funny thought crosses his head and he imagines a world without trees after the elves die out.

Where will the squirrels go?

But as soon as he recognizes the thought, he shakes it loose and forgets about it so that he can return to his family with a smile.

"Bennaths! Bennaths!"

He turns around and embraces his sister in a cheerful hug, crying out and patting her back in scholarly joy.

"I've dreamt of this day the moment you've left. But Athenas misses you even much more so. Oh, she'll be so delighted!"

"Where is she?"

"The palace. Let's return home!"

Along the way, Bennath asks, "by the way, you were still a young child back then but do you remember the nightmares Elphias had? She repeated 'save your…' repeatedly…"

"I always thought she was saying Xavier… Why what's wrong?"

Bennaths remains silent, resolving to keep the thought to himself even when he reaches his former room.

Upon seeing the baby, Bennaths holds her in his arms, mouthing silent apologies for the sin of leaving her. Athenas, having barely felt the love of a father, nevertheless cries happily and he humbly let out his own tears in response. It takes the appearance of a butterfly entering through an open window to quell his emotions.

"I must tell you wonderful news. On my way back, I met Elphias' maid, the one who disappeared along with her."

"Elphias' maid? You mean she's still alive? I never saw a vision but I've assumed the worse…" Bennaths' sister looks at the ground, pensive about the news about someone who she was too young to fully remember. She tries to display the same joy as her brother, but her smile comes out crooked and thoughtless. Bennaths, in no way offended, puts his hand on her forearm and motions for her to go out. His sister holds the door open and Bennaths take Athenas in his hand and the letters in another.

They migrate to the fountain at the noiseless edge of the forest.

"She had given me these letters with the intent that I'd burn them after reading its contents. I believe there's a secret she's holding that she does not wish to publically disclosed," says Bennaths, holding out the first page as the two seated themselves face to face with one another. Athenas stroll in between them in her own, innocent world.

"Are you sure it is fine to disclose it to me?"

Bennaths thinks over it and then decides, "Yes. This involves you as much as it does me and I would like to share this with you." His lips trembles as he speaks. His sister recognizes this.

"You need not be afraid of what lies ahead. I'll listen to it as you read." She puts her hand over Bennaths', giving him the impudent power that was always within her. Although it is only an inference, this must be one of the good qualities she had inherited from her mother. With a sure nod, he reads the words.

_ I believe we left off with the secret letters that Elphias kept hidden, first through her mindless guards, and then forever with flames. For years, I suppose, I toiled myself with the intent that one day these letters will become known to me, yet, my attempts had come to no avail. Of course, that was when I still believed her doom will befall through the unveiling of her façade, however the truth was a lot stranger, and perhaps fitting, than the fantasy I strived to realize. If I recalled correctly, I've mentioned how in this whole charade, monsters have been involved and have been made._

_ Reconsidering, the curse of the elves could be on our hands, as punishment for defiling the natural order, disrupting it beyond repair. However, that is not cause for me to engage in self-infliction because I am still noble, and I must believe that if I am to continue writing this that I must write. But before I continue, you must first of all know what her doom was. For many years, Elphias had been missing, long enough for you to plant a flower for her in the field, I heard, to bring closure and bring a new monarch to the fairy throne. I find that very appropriate because I know for a fact that Elphias is dead._

_ You've continued to listen to what you perceived to be my ramblings in order to finally arrive at that fact, and now I have given it to you. Just knowing does not bring you solace; you must arrive at the absolute truth, one supported by undeniable proofs and as much as I am reluctant to disclose them, I have no intention to leave you with just Elphias' end. I sought for you so that you can know everything, and this is everything._

_ Her disappearance happened on the third night of the Ossyria Magic Tournament, and I remembered this precisely because that was during the controversial hiatus when Anya of Magcintus broke tradition by being a Magical Warrior instead of a Warring Magician, yes those were the terms they used. Of course, by all means, there was no difference, as far as I could see, between the two. The regulation council only wanted to throw her out of the game because Magcintus would take first place yet again, winning over Elphias' once-in-a-century prodigy._

_ This was yet, proof, of shameless dignity, the driving force that bended people to bend others just to claim what they viewed as enormous pride, which was as enormous so much as grains of salt, at the cost of nobility. I do not think much about Magcintus or Anya, however, I wanted more than anything to have Elphias defeated to silence her or better yet, have her explain herself through her, dare I say it, corny speeches. Yet again this was only a fantasy, because on the third night, she had a private duel with The Judge…_

Bennaths' heart skips a beat. "What's wrong?" asks his sister.

"Five years ago, I remember now. That year a new Judge was elected."

"You mean the Judge of Magcintus? Isn't a new one elected every several years?"

"That is true but the term for the last Judge wasn't up during that period. Nobles across the world were shocked by the news because an early election meant The Judge died. The strangest thing was Magcintus didn't confirm the death."

"Could this private duel be related…is it at all possible that—"

"No. Elphias is still very much alive, you know that."

"I'm afraid of jumping into unnecessary conclusions, but if it is fact that Elphias ended the Judge and she choose to exile herself, what then?"

"It matters not. She's been missing for years and I am determined to see her again, whether as a queen or a prisoner—more so if she is."

"I am here for you Bennaths. Do not feel obligated to do this alone."

_That day was a day I cannot forget and should not forget because that was the day I got revenge for what had been the past. I made preparations in full to exact justice for our people: justice to the elves for bringing down the tyrant who blinded us for many years; Justice to the fairies for removing this disgrace of a ruler so someone else can take her high throne. I knew exactly what I was going to do every step of the way. I bought a dagger from a street urchin, something dull and painful but enough to cut through fairy flesh. When she returned after the duel, I shall use this opportunity to strike her weary body. What's the phrase? Like taking candy from a baby._

_ How crude am I to use such humanly thoughts to describe such noble action? After Elphias' death, I shall lie and say I saw nothing and no one, and people will believe an elven maiden such as I. People, I supposed, dogs like you, will scour for her because you have a false sense of solitude without that wicked pixie governing your life. When I thought that years ago, I laughed. I laughed at the horribleness of my act. I laughed at those who will suffer. I laughed for finally getting what I had wanted._

_ And then the night came and Elphias went alone to the secluded rocky hill. I can tell she didn't plan on telling me where she was headed, but in our conversation she slipped it out to me. I could always pretend that it was all part of her plan to tell me this, to mock me, to challenge me, but that would be insanity. How could someone as noble as me fall for such a trick? No, I pretended I didn't hear a single thing as she bid me goodnight for she'll be gone for a very long time. I tried to keep myself busy throughout the night, doing much like what we did on the train, Bennaths. I wrote letters to my sister and I burned every one of them so that no one will know what was between her and me. I loved my sister, I supposed, and that was why I must do this and keep myself focused on the task._

_ However, the malevolent goddess wanted so much more. When I ran out of words I wanted to tell my sister, Elphias still had not returned, and I soon will be too tired to exact justice. I needed to be excited because the excitement allowed me to do what it is required of me as determined by the benevolent goddess. I looked at the time on the wall and told myself another twenty-five minute will do. I kept watch on that clock, watching the ticks go by, counting them, miss counting them, drawing inferences from them. Time had never gone by so slowly._

_ Thirty minutes passed and I decided to stop denying myself of my purpose. I needed to see Elphias now, see what had kept her for so long. I had to be careful so I found some dark clothes and made myself a mask should I need to conceal myself. I also brought with me the dagger because ever since I bought it, I felt tied to it and responsible for it. It was not good to leave your weapons alone at home._

_ I walked up the hill, kept my hand in my pockets so I do not accidentally unveil my weapon to anyone I happened to pass, all the while thought nothing but Elphias. She was easy enough to find, that monster with her wings a luminescent blue in the night. I did not know what had happened throughout the night, but when I saw here there, kneeling on the ground alone, I imagined her kneeling to me in defeat. It was all that I could hope for, I just knew this was what the malevolent goddess wanted me to do and that was to kill her. And at that time, I unleased my dagger upon her for all the years I had subjugated beneath her. I attacked into her spine, and although I couldn't cripple her, I made sure she can't move so she'll bleed to death…_

"Elphias…" says his sister, not knowing what to say.

"There's only one more sentence. _When I sank that knife into her back, it made a monster out of all of us._"

His sister opens his lips, mystified by the horrendous account. She can barely put her words together, and when finally she does, it's in slow whispers, "What could it mean?"

"Your guess is as good as mines," remarks Bennaths grimly. "Either way, it is decided, I must visit Magcintus. The Judge went missing shortly after the duel, and there is no mistake that something must've happened."

"I'll go with you," she replies quickly.

"No. This is something I must do and I don't think my trip to Magcintus will be a pleasant one."

"But—"

"Do not worry about me. I will be back." He puts a hand of confidence on her left shoulder. A blue butterfly drifts over the pouring fountain and lands atop Athenas' baby nose.

"When will you head out?" she asks, accepting that there's no way to change his mind.

"As soon as possible… Tomorrow."

* * *

**A/N: **This chapter is one of the harder ones for me to write. I actually had trouble seeing Mercedes as a spoiled or serious queen, so I didn't really knew who she was until I wrote her brother and started with only an idea about who the elves were, a dying race. Just goes to show how characters can be made and characterized by their surroundings!

Only two chapters remaining! Aren't you excited? Thanks to the length of time I've spent on this chapter alone, chapter four is already finished! Expect it by mid-January. Next up, our favorite thief.


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